


Fear is Pleasure

by musicaldork



Category: Herbert West - Reanimator - H. P. Lovecraft, Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Blindfolds, Bondage, Edgeplay, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear Play, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Medical Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, it reads a little intense at the beginning but its totally consensual, wouldnt write it otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24735010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicaldork/pseuds/musicaldork
Summary: Herbert West and his beloved try something new in the bedroom. Or rather, the laboratory.Request: Request: Medical Play and Fearplay + Sensory deprivation and edging for “science.”
Relationships: Herbert West/Reader
Kudos: 27





	Fear is Pleasure

You didn’t know how long it’d been since Herbert had left you there.

20 minutes? 7 hours? In the forefront of your mind was the acute hyperawareness of every little touch against your skin, and nothing else.

You’re bound, blindfolded and earplugged - left more vulnerable to him than you ever have been in the past. 

Squirming against the chilled steel of his sterilised examination table, you focus on how uncomfortable it is beneath you. 

You couldn’t even tell if he were in the room with you at this point. Was he off to the side, studying - able to concentrate after he’d left you out of your mind? 

The thought of him leaving you without a passing thought - like he didn’t even care - sent a jolt of embarrassed pleasure through your body.

The anticipation of wondering when or _if_ anything was going to happen gnawed at you unrelentingly. Your breaths were shallow and quick with fear, likely triggered by some deep-seated survival instinct.

Nipples hardened from the chilled air, you felt far too exposed - splayed open on his table for him to play with. You could feel your arousal drooling onto the table below you, slicking the underside of your thighs. It was humiliating how turned on you were by this.

It was deeply disorienting not being able to hear yourself, not even tuned into the sound of your own breathing. 

With your senses disabled, it only made it evident to you just how incapable the human body could be - prey in the grasp of its smirking predator.

You feel like another one of his experiments, something to be poked and prodded at - _toyed with_. 

It’s frightening, it’s exhilarating and it’s goddamn _torture_ when he _isn’t touching you._

When you first suggested to him your interest in exploring medical play and fearplay, he was reasonably reluctant about trying it out. 

It took far less than you anticipated to bring him around to the idea. A little teasing and he was all yours.

Herbert himself finds that he’s _especially_ receptive to the idea when he’s gotten you riled up - tied up, helpless and edged to the brink of absolute insanity.

He starts out running his hands all over you, touching between your legs with a delicious precision that brings you so close to the edge that you can just taste it- 

And then he stops. Because, of course he does. 

You want to sob and scream and furiously thrash your fists against his chest every time.

Instead, you just slump back against the table, defeated, throbbing with arousal and that goddamned lack of satisfaction.

You expect it, but even so, you find a blind fury rising up in you at the cruel deprivation.

Dancing the line between gratification and deprivation is what you hate and everything you _need_.

Herbert drinks in your desperation and leaves you to your own devices, with nary a brush against you. It’s _torturous_.

Even though you can’t see him, you can physically feel the menacing aura radiating off of him at your helpless subservience.

You flinch at the unexpected touch of cold, blunted spikes against your skin. Your scrambled thoughts try to pin the sensation down, try to make sense of everything. Something that feels… like a Wartenberg wheel? 

You can easily imagine Herbert’s smug laugh - wholly at your expense, probably pleased at your startled, panicky reaction - even if you can’t hear it.

The next time he touches you, he’s giving you back the sight and hearing he had stolen away from you. 

You find yourself thankful for his small mercies, though still shaking with the chill of fear. 

You’re truly grateful to see him, in some terrified, twisted way.

As unreachable as the stars in the sky, his gaze glinted just as coldly against your skin.

He holds you and your pleasure solely in his hands. You only get to cum if he deems you worthy of it. You bite back a smile as the thought stings against your mind.

His narrow smile feels far more dangerous than his prior impassivity. Eyes never leaving him, you still jump at the sudden slamming of his tray of medical tools against the table. The clattering sound rattles heavily against your shredded nerves.

Adjusting your restraints to make sure you lack even an inch of wriggle room, he picks up a needle, holding it up to glint against the dim light of the room. Fear washes over you like a dousing in ice water, freezing you in place.

With a slowness that aches in its deliberacy, Herbert begins to trail the needle lightly down the bare skin of your body. 

The pressure he exerts is so little that he doesn’t even leave a mark, but the unspoken threat sends another rush of terrified exhilaration through your entire body.

When he finally pulls away, you’re left breathless and shivering with excitement. The moment he puts the tray of medical devices away, his hands are back on you, working against you with a reassuring fervency. His actions are loud but his promise is silent. 

_You can let go now._

And so you do.

Your eventual orgasm almost sneaks up on you, unexpected in its sizzling, euphoric intensity, especially with how numbed you were to the feeling of approaching the edge.

Twitching involuntarily against your binds, you mindlessly whimpered out a keening cry of _“Doctor!”_ without thinking of the consequences.

At the sound, Herbert grows even more frenzied in his movements, savoring the feel of you - warm wetness on his fingers - stretched around him. He only slows when he knows you can’t take much more, when your straining grows too violent.

Seeing you sprawled out, bound on his examination table, messy with pleasure and bliss… looking ridiculously fucked out... that’s a sight he could get used to. 

“...Was that okay?”

And the spell is broken. 

Undoing your binds with brisk efficiency, he begins to massage proper circulation back into your hands, touches light against your slightly bruised wrists.

“Of course! I would’ve safeworded otherwise. It was great, Herbie. We should do that again sometime. Maybe next time, I’ll tie you up.”

“Absolutely not-”

“Ha!”

Laughing near-deliriously to yourself, you allowed him to drape a threadbare dressing gown around your shoulders, helping you undertake the long, treacherous trek back up the stairs - to the ever-so-welcoming warmth of his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> herbert would probably suck at aftercare but a guy can dream right
> 
> ALSO. ITS OF VITAL IMPORTANCE TO ME THAT YOU KNOW THAT THAT TABLE WAS CLEANED AND STERILISED HEAVILY BEFOREHAND. BECAUSE NEEDLESS TO SAY: EW.  
> okay thats all. dont know if this is any good. sucks to suck i guess
> 
> oh! and as always, find me on my tumblr at dorkfanfic where my requests are open! :)


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